


Beautiful Stranger

by WilmaKins



Series: Fanniversary Thank You Fics [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), First Meetings, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Meet-Cute, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Protective Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers Feels, references to historical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilmaKins/pseuds/WilmaKins
Summary: Steve is fresh out of the ice and nearly out of patience with the world. The last thing he want is a beautiful stranger to gatecrash his lunch and bombard him with pop culture references he doesn't get...No, really, it is, it's the last thing he wants... honest....





	Beautiful Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TeaXCupcake on Tumblr, for the prompt:
> 
> First meeting, Tony is clean shaven with unusual haircut/hairdo and people struggle to recognise him, Steve is annoyed and attracted at the same time, bickering and lots of pop culture references; bonus points for Nat being Tony’s bro
> 
> Thank you again, and I really hope you like it!

“You waiting on the big guy?”

Steve glanced up from the little sketch he’d somehow managed to disappear into. Immediately, the speed and noise of New York City crowded around him again, taking up all the oxygen. Like someone had grabbed the back of his head and forced it underwater, like the constant stream of illuminated information was literally getting into his eyes, flooding his lungs, forcing everything else out. He tried to swallow it down.

In the centre of all this sensory chaos there was a woman. In the first glance, his brain supplied the word _waitress_ – although, even that had a grubby film of insecurity over it, now. Is that what waitresses wear, these days? Does she actually have a job that didn’t even exist in the forties, that everyone in this café would instantly recognise from her outfit, a job that was so far removed from waiting tables that she’d be amused or even offended by his mistake? Did they even _have_ waitresses, anymore?

And that was before he got to considering what she’d actually said.

_You waiting on the big guy_?

Steve had never realised just how lost you could get in six short words.

Was that a turn of phrase now?

Was that a reference to something specific?

Was it a joke?

Was it a genuine question?

She spoke as though he should know what she meant…

Six words, and maybe three seconds in total, and already Steve was drowning again. So, he put on his bravest face, and steeled his whole body, and tried his best. What else can you do?

“Ma’am?”

“Iron man” She explained “A lot of people eat here just to see him fly by”

_Iron Man. _There was an unpleasant curling in Steve’s gut when she said it – but hey, at least he understood that reference.

Or, no… no, he didn’t. Hence the unpleasant curling in Steve’s gut. Yes, he’d been told the story of Tony Stark and his miraculous escape from an Afghan cave – but that didn’t mean he _understood_. In fact, listening to Coulson explain the whole Iron Man thing might’ve been the most torturous conversation Steve had had in the 21st Century. He’d had to interrupt every sentence at least three times, _we’re at war with who? Since what happened in New York? The ten who’s wanted Stark to design a what? With a what wired into his chest? Why? _He could see Coulson getting frustrated with the stop-start nature of the conversation, never able to get his flow, obviously wishing Steve would just shut up and listen. Steve had tried that. He’d tried just listening while Coulon spoke an alien language, casually referencing technology Steve had never heard of and politics he wasn’t familiar with and dropping in pop culture references that he’d forgotten Steve wouldn’t get. By the end of it, Steve wasn’t entirely sure if Iron Man was a robot or Tony Stark was an android. So he’d had to ask Coulson to start all over again, which hadn’t made things any less frustrating at all.

As a result of all this, there was now a bitter taste in Steve’s mouth any time someone mentioned Iron Man. Which was probably why it felt as though people talked about him _all the time_. Steve tried to remind himself that none of that was actually Tony Stark’s fault. Not out of any empathy towards Stark, who was no more than a concept in Steve’s head, but because of a standard he chose to observe _himself_. Personalising his anxieties like this felt petty. Even _wanting_ to lash out at a stranger, just because said stranger was confusing and unfamiliar and seemed to symbolise everything that scared Steve about the world… it all seemed very un-Captain America. It fell into that category, along with jealousy and insecurity and everything else that Captain America wasn’t motivated by, don’t be ridiculous. He was a grown up, after all.

He would not lash out at this woman for mentioning him. It wasn’t her fault, either.

“Right…” Steve managed, “…Maybe another time.” He reached into his pocket, taking out what still seemed like a ludicrous amount of money to just leave on a café table… but the guidebooks were all consistent. This was what money was worth, these days.

_Tony Stark’s net worth is estimated to be around 12.4 billion dollars._

Steve hadn’t spent much time looking at Stark’s file, yet. He’d been too keen to get to Peggy’s file, and Howard and the Commandos – people he’d actually known. But, even at a glance, certain details had leapt out at him…. _12.4 billion._ It was a preposterous number. Farcical. _Made up._ A millionaire, _twelve thousand times over._ Steve couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t comprehend it – like looking up at the stars…

He was handsome too, Steve remembered, an entirely _different_ discomfort churning in his stomach… But that one was easy to stomp down. _That_ discomfort was at least familiar, one of very few anxieties he remembered from before he was frozen. These days, that made it almost a comfort… not that he was going to think about it. He _knew_ not to think about this one. He’d closed Stark’s file the second that word had occurred to him, covering the picture before he could even form a full image of his face…

_But you keep trying to remember it now, don’t you…?_

Steve shook the thought away, and tried to smile at the waitress.

“The tables yours for as long as you want it.” She assured him, kindly, turning away to clear the table beside him. “Nobody’s waiting on it. Plus, we’ve got free wireless.”

“Radio?” He asked, before he could stop himself. The waitress turned to give him _that_ look of almost angry confusion, and Steve tried not to wince.

Oh God, he hated this.

And sometimes it would occur to him, like a rising tide, that it could _never_ end. That unlike any other agony he’d struggled through, there was simply no _getting through it_. No counting down the minutes until he could tell Bucky all of this. No waiting until he was back in his own bed, in his own world. No reason to just keep trying, just keep his head up… until when? For what? So that he could earn the right to keep _on_ trying, for the rest of his life?

Beside him, a harassed woman was trying to negotiate two over-tired children into sitting at the table that had just been cleared. Steve glanced up and saw a little group of people hovering by the _please wait to be seated_ sign. Before he looked to check he knew that every table in the place would be full. _Nobody’s waiting on it,_ he remembered, with a rueful smile. In the forties, that would have just been a simple kindness. A little white lie, to make Steve more comfortable, just because he looked a bit sad. He would’ve _known_ that, in the forties. He’d have taken it for granted. But now… Was the waitress being sarcastic? Was that a famous line, from the infamous film, _the jerk that wouldn't leave the restaurant_? Maybe those people _weren’t_ waiting for a table, maybe they were all waiting to … _book something online,_ or something… something that everyone else here would immediately know…

Not that it mattered. Steve was leaving anyway.

As he finally stood up, and shrugged his way into his jacket, he happened to glance at the man at the front of the queue. Steve didn’t see his face, but he could tell from his gestures that he was telling the waitress, _never mind, I’ll go somewhere else. _Well, that’s what that would’ve meant, in the forties… But Steve was tired of over thinking things, and he’d run out of energy to care about whether strangers thought he was an idiot, so he went with it. He waved to the waitress, _it’s okay, I’m leaving._ And, mercifully, he recognised the response – a grateful nod, before she turned to the new customer and gestured, _no need for that, come right this way. _

Steve wasn’t even thinking about the waitress, or the customer, by the time he walked away from his table. He was closing this awkward chapter in his head, and moving onto the next, thinking only of where he was going from here and all the reasons that would also be awful…

He glanced up, purely by chance-

And _Sweet Jesus Christ._

Steve _stopped._ He stopped walking, he stopped thinking, he stopped _breathing,_ for a second.

There was a single, blinding moment of purely _human_ feeling. An instinctive response, nothing to do with the era – a physical, bodily reaction, first and foremost.

Steve had happened to look up and catch the eye of _the_ most beautiful human being he’d ever seen in his life.

…The most beautiful _man._

_Shit_.

That second response was equally instinctive – like pulling your hand away from a hot stove. He literally took a step backwards and looked at the floor. There was a hot surge in his chest, a strange mix of old and new, an ancient anxiety in a strange new world.

Someone had mentioned, in passing, that ‘it was legal now’. Steve couldn’t remember who – he’d looked at the floor then, too. He hadn’t known whether he was supposed to smile or not. Whether he was _allowed_ to. He’d wanted to, of course. He’d always thought it should’ve been legal, even without his… personal interest, in things. But that _personal interest_ in the issue had always meant he couldn’t voice any objective opinion… just in case anyone wondered why he cared… just in case anyone spotted that it wasn’t only women Steve noticed, or got tongue tied around…

He _knew_ he wasn’t supposed to think those things. He’d known that for as long as he’d known that… _those things,_ existed. When he was a kid, a homosexual was a pervert – a _sex criminal_. Unnatural, people said, in a horrified creeping tone. The fact that Steve had never understood that, and had _always_ thought it unfair, didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Jesus, if Captain America had been caught doing… anything like _that_, with a _man_ – it would have been the scandal that broke a million children’s hearts. They’d have renounced him, burned the comic books – locked him up. Having a SHIELD agent casually mention that _it was legal now_ did nothing to ease decades of social conditioning. It didn’t tell him whether he could smile at that, without outing himself as a sympathiser to a fringe movement. It didn’t say anything about whether you could still be fired or denounced or cast out for it…

It didn’t tell him whether this beautiful stranger was about to punch him for staring like that. Whether everyone in this café would think he had a point…

And then the beautiful stranger spoke. And of _all_ the things he could have said, he chose to say-

“I know you.”

And, for a start, that meant Steve had to look at him. Social interaction hadn’t changed _that_ much since the forties. That was the first panic.

And, Christ, it was actually painful.

Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this socially awkward. He had no idea where to look – how _not_ to look at those eyes… impossibly wide eyes, the most beautiful shade of golden brown, fringed by inky black lashes… Steve felt his chest tighten, his mouth suddenly full of fluid. He tried to swallow subtly. And then the second panic, the utter confusion of those three words.

No one here knew him.

That was _the _problem, the literal story of his life right now.

He wanted those three little words more than anything, _because_ he knew he couldn’t have them-

And yet.

“Um, I don’t think so, sorry” Steve mumbled, looking down again.

…but he felt like maybe he did.

It was madness, of course. This man wasn’t Coulson or Fury – ergo, Steve didn’t know him. And yet, something about his face felt immediately familiar…

But it couldn’t be. It literally couldn’t be.

A face he’d seen on the television, maybe. A model, from an ad on the subway or a magazine he’d flicked through… it didn’t feel right, but it had to be. Nothing else made sense.

“Excuse me.” Steve managed, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, as he made to walk away from this awful situation-

The sudden snap of cool, slender fingers around his wrist.

Steve stopped again. He looked at his wrist first, staring incredulously at this total strangers’ hand grabbing hold of him – _touching_ him, as though anyone said he could-

Was he allowed to get angry about this? Was this how people behaved these days – was this perfectly reasonable, now?

“Let me buy you a drink.” The stranger said – with such _confidence_. Such unremarked, unquestioned ease… “Please?”

Several panics, then.

The ingrained, age-old fear of the attraction he felt for this man. Not knowing how he was supposed to react, what he should be inferring… what he should be feeling, about any of this.

The modern, high-definition terror of everything around him, the confusion he felt talking to _anyone_, his compete and total ignorance of everything anyone said.

The entirely inappropriate rush of elation, and subsequent plunge of inferiority, that this person should be interested in him…

And, above all that, the simple panic that _he just did not know how to say no._

“Um. Okay.” Steve heard himself say. _God, why did I say that?_

“Okay?” The stranger clarified, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay.” _And again?_

But, yes, apparently Steve was saying _okay. _He stepped back towards the table he’d just stood up from, and slid back into the seat he’d just vacated, and took an intense interest in the salt shaker as the beautiful man sat down opposite him.

“So.” The stranger began. “Drink?”

“Oh. Um. Coffee?” Steve spoke to somewhere over the man’s shoulder, feeling like he’d just picked a word at random from a foreign menu. He felt his cheeks burn. _Get a grip Rogers. You know coffee._

“Coffee.” The stranger confirmed, with an amused smile, as though he found Steve quaint. It set Steve’s teeth on edge. He already hated hearing that tone from people.

“Thank you.” He bit out, shifting slightly under a ripple of irritation. He didn’t like this man. This total stranger, with his overwhelming sense of entitlement and his slightly patronising manner.

…_and yet._

The stranger _finally_ broke eye contact with Steve to wave to the waitress, and Steve took the opportunity to look at him properly. A bit older that him, Steve guessed – mid to late thirties, maybe? Clean shaven, tanned skin… _those_ eyes, of course… and lovely lips, full and dark and just shaped like a smile… and a mop of shiny dark hair that was swept up in places, and flattened down in others – and, now that Steve looked closely, shimmering slightly…

“Glitter.” The strangers voice snapped Steve out of his train of thought. He felt a rush of shame heat his skin. _Caught._

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m covered in glitter” The stranger sighed. “And, no, I have no idea how it got there.”

“…you have no idea how it got there?” Steve repeated, carefully.

“No. I, ah, I got dumped last night. I remember that. And I remember thinking it would therefore be a great idea to go out and get hammered. And then I remember waking up in a motel in New Jersey, covered in glitter.” The stranger explained, in the same easy patter. “Also, I had a beard, last night.”

Steve had the strangest idea that he might’ve liked this man, if he’d met him in the forties. That, if he’d been allowed to take any of this at face value, he might’ve just found it funny. Refreshing, even, to talk to someone this open and unpolished. But he couldn’t take it at face value – actually, he couldn’t work out what this man could possibly want from him. _Why_ he should share this much with someone he didn’t know, whether he was trying to goad a reaction out of Steve… or which one. As such, he wasn’t charmed and amused in this man’s company. He felt uncomfortable, and cornered, and quite sure he didn’t like him.

And he didn’t have the first clue what to say to _any_ of that.

“So – I feel like I know you.” The stranger said again, when he’d left just long enough for Steve to feel awkward about the silence.

“You really don’t” Steve tried to smile, “I’m… new, around here?”

“Ohhh. That was very _general hospital_.” The stranger observed, with a grin.

Steve heard his own voice, much younger, from the echoes of his memories… _is this a test_?

_Okay, Captain Rogers, let’s see just how well you’re assimilating. Load ambush simulation one; gorgeous man, uncertain social scenario, pop culture bombardment level two. Initiate._

And Steve knew this wasn’t a set up. Amongst other things, he had undeniably, _bafflingly_, done this to himself. But he couldn’t help the way his fight or flight response kicked in. He couldn’t stop himself from _feeling_ like he was suddenly in the middle of a combat.

“I’m sorry?”

“…it was just very enigmatic.” The stranger explained, an edge on his voice that told Steve he’d failed test one. “I didn’t think people said that in real life.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Steve mumbled.

“Hm. So, what is your name?” The stranger demanded, in a way that Steve objected to.

“Steve.” He answered, too formally.

And the stranger frowned, and pulled his bottom lip under his teeth… and then softened… and then _smiled_…

Steve’s heart skipped a beat. But before he could place his panic, the stranger told him,

“Tony.”

“Tony.” Steve repeated, involuntarily.

“Steve.” The stranger – _Tony_ – grinned. Steve felt like he was making fun of him. “So. Steve. Where are you from, then?”

“…Lot’s of places.” Steve sighed, wishing his coffee would turn up so that he could drink it and go-

“But that’s a Brooklyn accent.”

Steve felt an oddly mundane twinge of interest at that. A casual sort of intrigue that felt entirely out of place in his current situation, like turning to ask someone, _sorry, did you just say you went to Pen State?_ in the middle of a bloody battle. It was… weirdly comforting…

“… I was born in Brooklyn” Steve told him, finding it a little easier to smile. “But everyone says I lost the accent.”

“Uh-uh.” Tony shook his head. “There is a definite Larry King quality on the low notes.”

_Well, that’s two for two pop culture tests missed, _Steve thought, irritably.

“…I can’t hear it.” Steve told him.

“So how come you’re in New York?” Tony went on, too quickly.

“Oh, um. Work.” Steve responded, lamely. He could see the waitress approaching with their drinks, like the captain of a lifeboat.

“What do you do?” Oh yeah, that would be the obvious follow up question. Steve kicked himself.

“Oh, it’s a… boring, and… complicated government job.”

“Try me.” Tony challenged. Steve felt what may have been an irrational spike of anger.

“No.” He said, simply.

Oh, thank God, the waitress. The coffee.

Steve made far too big a show of accepting the drinks and saying thank you, he knew he was. Anything to put some conversational distance on the table.

“So, what do _you_ do?” Steve asked, firmly, before Tony could say anything else.

And Tony just blinked those impossibly long eye lashes.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

And steve suddenly remembered that twinge of familiarity he’d felt before. It dawned on him… this man is famous. Steve was _supposed_ to know who this was.

_Shit, shit, shit._

“I am not kidding you.” Steve spoke oh so carefully. And then Tony’s lips curled into a smile…an infuriating, superior smile… an undeniably _sexy_ smile-

God, Steve hated himself right now. Also, possibly Tony.

“Well, I _was_ the CEO of the worlds foremost arms-manufacturer-turned-renewable-energy-research conglomerate.” Tony teased – and Steve _knew_ he knew all of those words, if he’d just had a moment to separate them all out. But as one string of syllables, it was just a mess.

“Sounds exhausting.” Steve muttered, before taking far too a huge gulp of far too hot coffee.

“Well, I don’t do that anymore” Tony carried on, like he was hinting at something.

“And hence you have more time to…” Steve gestured vaguely towards him, “get…shaved and covered in glitter…”

_Why the fuck did you say that?_

And he really wanted to hate Tony for laughing at him – but he couldn’t help feeling like he deserved that one.

“That sounds like something Fox would commission during sweeps.” Tony giggled. Steve thought of an Agent Fox he’d met, right after he’d come out of the ice… for various reasons, he thought it was unlikely that Tony was talking about her.

And then, just as Steve was scrambling for _anything_ to say to that, a beautiful redhaired woman magically appeared at his side. Steve wasn’t sure whether to be mercifully pleased of the reprieve, or panicked at the new challenge.

_Why was my lunch table never surrounded by gorgeous people in the forties_?

But, for whatever reason, this woman didn’t have the same effect on Steve as Tony had. He could at least look at her without feeling it in every part of his body. So, he decided to go with ‘reprieve’ and focus on the new stranger.

“Ma’am?”

“Oh, what’ve I done now?” Tony moaned, from across the table. Steve looked back at him, and realised he was looking at her, that they knew each other. Well, that was a relief. Maybe he could just duck the hell out of this now, and leave the beautiful people to it-

“I’m not here for _you_” The woman narrowed her eyes at Tony, and glanced back at Steve.

She was here for him.

Well. That was…

Better. That would be less of a struggle than Tony had been, surely.

…No, it was, it was better. He didn’t want to keep talking to Tony. He didn’t.

“Well, then I’m leaving before you stab me in the arm with a needle” Tony told her, with exaggerated cheerfulness – and then looked directly at Steve “And you want to watch out for that, by the way.”

…Was that a joke?

“Ignore him” The woman told Steve, as Tony slid out his chair in one fluid motion, turning on his heel with a flourish… and then just _away_…

Okay, Steve loved the way he moved. No denying that. Unfortunately.

“So, you’ve met Tony Stark?” The woman was still talking, as Steve tried to right himself. He glanced back up at her.

“Excuse me?”

“Tony Stark.” She said again.

“What about him-m….” And it dawned on Steve, at last.

He had only the most fleeting memory of Tony Starks picture – a man with a goatee, and _without_ glitter in his hair. But, now that she said it-

Of course it was.

And, with that revelation came a wave of humiliation, like watching himself while he was drunk. Realising all the things he’d said, that he _wouldn’t_ have said, if he’d known what he was saying.

And then a sudden shard of outrage, as he realised… Tony had known who _he_ was, the whole time. That Tony Stark was Howards son, and known to SHIELD, at least. Someone had probably told him that Captain America had been found in the ice – and, even if they hadn’t… he’d _seen_ Tony recognise him. The flicker of thought, the _smile_ when Steve had said his name…

And Tony hadn’t said anything. That was immediately annoying.

And…

_But that’s a Brooklyn accent._

And Tony hadn’t heard that. Tony just knew Captain America came from Brooklyn, same as everyone else did…

God, why did _that_ hurt his feelings so much?

“He didn’t tell you who he was?” The woman asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I know who he is.” Steve sighed, sounding more bitter than he’d meant to. Then he caught her eye. “I don’t know who you are, though.”

“Natasha Romanov” She smiled warmly, sitting down in Tony’s seat. “Nick Fury has assigned me as your liaison.” Oh, yeah. He remembered Nick saying. Although Nick had called her a _buddy_… and apparently picked up on Steve’s dislike of the term.

“Oh, yes. Hi.” He managed, feeling his ribs relax just slightly. Someone who knew who he was, at least. Someone who was here for unambiguously professional reasons.

Someone he could look at, without feeling suffocated by his own skin.

“There’s a mission?” He considered, suddenly. But Natasha shook her head.

“Oh, no, I just wanted to introduce myself.” She assured him.

“Oh. Well, hi.” He smiled more naturally. Compared to the last test, this was positively enjoyable.

“…So, Tony’s kind of an ass, huh?” She carried on, casually-

And, how about that, he felt a sudden pang of indignation on Tony’s behalf. Which was especially odd given that he’d just been thinking that himself.

“He’s, uh… eccentric?” Steve frowned. “You know him then?”

“Oh, yeah – SHIELD sent me under cover as his assistant for a while last year.” Nat breezed… it left a stale sort of taste in Steve’s mouth.

“You were spying on him?”

“Basically.” She agreed, easily. “I mean, there _were_ reasons – but, essentially, yes.”

“Hm.” Steve murmured, dropping his eyes again.

“We get on fine now.” Nat added, with a little shrug.

“Even though he’s kind of an ass?” Steve asked, with more of an edge than he’d been expecting. Nat pretended not to notice it.

“Eh. Sometimes I even like him for being a bit of an ass. Just so you know, Captain, Tony Stark is a law unto himself. He just takes time to work out – that isn’t just you.”

It was a comforting sounding sentiment, at least. Even if Steve didn’t believe it for a second.

“Seems like he’d be a hard guy to work for.” Steve said for the sake of something to say… because he was scared that if he didn’t go along with the _Tony is kind of an ass_ conversation, he’d accidentally get dragged into a different one.

“Wouldn’t know – I didn’t really” Nat grinned, like it was funny. “…And, hey, at least he’s nice to look at.”

Steve felt the blood run up his neck, and had no choice but to look down at the table.

“I take it he knows you think that?” Steve said – because he’d _almost_ said, ‘and doesn’t he know it’, and panicked over the wording at the last minute. Too close to agreeing with her, he’d decided.

“He probably _assumes_ I think that.” Nat snorted. “But hey, I _know_ he thought I was hot, so that makes us even, right?”

Steve was too focused on the place setting to spot the compassionate look that had crept into Nat’s features as she spoke, too awkward to notice the slightly knowing edge on her voice.

“Oh, you two-?” He stammered, suddenly wondering if he’d misinterpreted some sort of couples banter and inadvertently insulted her boyfriend.

_I just got dumped_

…Or if he’d suddenly found himself smack bang in the middle of a situation he _really_ didn’t want to be in-

“Oh God no” Nat wrinkled her nose at silliness of the suggestion. Steve was immediately relieved he hadn’t put his foot in it… and then confused…

_So, you both find each other attractive, and you like him really, but the idea that you’re dating him is ridiculous?_

God, Steve hated the 21st Century.

“No, it was just… he met me, and he thought I was hot – which I am, by the way” Nat carried on, with a breezy self-confidence. Steve couldn’t decide how seriously he was meant to take that. “I don’t know, maybe it’s a 21st Century thing. But him making that casual observation once doesn’t really mean anything. And, yeah, Tony’s attractive. And kind of an ass. And a great guy, really. But also, really, kind of an ass…” And she shrugged again.

She’d said it all in such an off-hand way that Steve didn’t stop to worry that she was talking about him. He would have, normally. He was hyper-sensitive every time he found a man remotely attractive, so sure that everyone around him must see. But Nat was just chatting. Talking about Tony as if he was someone _she_ knew, as though she meant nothing more than what she was saying…

If he’d been more defensive in that moment, he wouldn’t have heard that little thought. He’d have been too busy wondering what she knew and what she meant and what she was about to say to really think about anything she’d said. To let himself wonder

…_Maybe it isn’t the end of the world to just find someone attractive when you first meet them._

_…Maybe no one will notice._

_…Maybe no one would care. _

A small comfort, but a comfort none the less.

And… weirdly…

He found he disliked Tony a little bit less, when he thought that maybe he was allowed to find him attractive…

“_Anyway_.” Nat went on, cheerfully “I didn’t come here to talk about Tony Stark. I actually just wanted to stop by and give you my number.” And with that, she reached into her pocket, and pulled out a good old-fashioned scrap of paper. “Just to let you know, if you need anything or if you want to talk – if you need rescuing from Tony Stark again. Whatever.”

She was already standing up as she said it. Maybe she’d picked up on how done Steve was with the day. Maybe Steve should be concerned he’d offended her, driven her away… as it was, he just accepted her phone number with a dizzying sense of relief.

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” He breathed. And Nat just flashed a final smile, and turned to leave.

Steve sat for another moment, and waited for his headache to fully form. God, he needed to hit something. And to reread Tony Starks file. In that order.

He stood up with more determination this time, glancing down to find that someone had left a fifty-dollar bill on the table without Steve even noticing. He had no idea how to feel about that, either. He hoped the waitress was pleased, he guessed.

And then he caught the eye of an elderly man at the table next to him. A thin, grey haired man, with wise eyes under big, square-shaped spectacles. Steve smiled in spite of himself.

“I’m glad you got _someone’s_ number” The old guy observed, before turning back to his tea.

Steve had no idea why he laughed at that. But he did.


End file.
